After the Case has Ended
by AlabasterShadow
Summary: One shot Johnlock. The boys of Baker Street try to deal with their feelings in between cases.


John walked into the apartment after a long day with patients, hung up his hat and coat, and entered the living room. It was quiet- blissfully quiet, John thought, as he lowered himself into his overstuffed armchair and closed his eyes. It seemed like only a few minutes had gone by when he was startled awake by a loud crash at the door.

"JOHN!" Sherlock called loudly as he swept into the apartment, knocking over the umbrella stand. "JOHN, I JUST HAVE TO CONFIRM WITH LESTRADE—IT WAS DEFINITELY THE BARKEEP." John quirked his eyebrow up with interest, he had suspected the man who owned the bar early on and felt immensely satisfied that he could keep up with the great Sherlock Holmes—at least, this time. He looked up, smiling, as Sherlock stepped fluidly into the room and collapsed happily onto the couch, stacking his feet on top of the coffee table.

"Great!" exclaimed John as he rose to his feet. "Now maybe we can get back to the case Lestrade _actually_ asked us to look into." He and Sherlock had been in pursuit of a string of robberies in the neighborhood when they heard of the murder of an old shopkeeper nearby. Sherlock had been instantly on the case.

"Us?" Sherlock questioned. John looked back at him as he walked toward the kitchen. Sherlock had his long arm covering his eyes as he laid his head on the back of the couch. John's eyes travelled over his tall, slender form. The silky material of his shirt rose softly with each breath. "Uh… yeah," John said faintly as he shook his head and continued into the kitchen. He started to put the kettle on for tea when he heard rustling, he turned back to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe.

"I thought you said you were too busy to keep up with your patients and work on cases?" Sherlock looked at him questioningly. John had said this in a fit of frustration last week when Sherlock was being particularly insufferable. He had assumed Sherlock had forgotten all about it.

"Erm, well, you see," John was uncomfortable with being called on his bluff, "I suppose I can take on a few here and there… besides, I definitely solved this last case before even you. Perhaps I could be of use. When I can fit it in." John straightened with each word, concentrating on the boiling water in front of him.

"Right," Sherlock said simply. He was watching John pour water from the kettle into two navy blue mugs. John was pointedly not looking at him, so he did not see Sherlock's eyes move from the mugs to John's broad shoulders, and up and down his strong arms. John looked up, causing Sherlock to jolt back, looking down quickly and running his fingers through his dark brown curls. "Well, anyway, I have to be off. I told Lestrade I would meet him at the pub to finish off the case." John nodded and Sherlock quickly left the kitchen, searching for his coat. As Sherlock was leaving the apartment, John had settled himself back in his armchair and opened a book he had been meaning to finish.

John awoke again to the sound of a crash near the front door, but this time it was followed by the sound of keys scratching around the door and loud muttering. He jumped up out of his chair and hurried to open the door, only to find Sherlock hunched over outside, staring at his keys accusingly.

"These damn things!" Sherlock exclaimed as he pushed past John, into the apartment. "They never work when I need them. What is the _point_ of these things if they don't work!" John watched him with amusement, Sherlock often blamed inanimate objects for typical human mistakes.

"Alright genius, I'm heading to bed," John said with a yawn. He didn't hear a reply, so he shuffled into his room, shut the door, and started to grab his pajamas. Suddenly, he heard a soft knock at his door. "Come in" he called, as he pulled a t-shirt out of the drawer.

"I just wanted to— "Sherlock's deep voice came from surprisingly close behind him. John turned to see Sherlock standing just a foot in front of him, looking strangely flushed. John looked at him with concern; Sherlock had stopped speaking, and was staring at him with the most peculiar look on his face.

"Are you alright?" John asked, when Sherlock didn't finish his sentence. John couldn't help noticing that Sherlock had removed his suit jacket, leaving only a maroon button up shirt that hugged his torso in a way that made it very hard for John to concentrate. John licked his lips absently and realized that he, too, had been silent for a while. He pulled his eyes back up to Sherlock's.

Sherlock had definitely noticed John's eyes lingering, a fact that made his pulse quicken. Usually this deduction went unmentioned but, this time, Sherlock stepped forward, grabbed John by the shoulders and bent down to press his lips hesitantly against John's. Then he pushed John firmly backwards, almost against the wall behind him, and kissed him again, this time with more confidence.

John put a shaking hand on Sherlock's chest, breaking the kiss that threatened to pull him under. Both men panted heavily, trying uselessly to catch their breath. John couldn't bring himself to look into Sherlock's grey eyes just yet. His hand was conveniently still on Sherlock's chest, and he could feel a thundering heartbeat, matching his own beat for beat. Oh God, he was so warm! -

John's realization was cut short when Sherlock grasped his wrist and firmly pulled the hand off of his chest and over John's head—pressed against the wall behind him. Sherlock brought his head down to John's height and pressed his cool lips once again roughly against his own, causing John to groan audibly. Sherlock moved ever so slightly closer, pressing his firm stomach against John's, sending waves of heat down his body. John instinctually pressed his pelvis against Sherlock's, breaking their kiss with a gasp of pleasure. Sherlock roughly tugged at John's shirt, pulling his jumper up and over his head in one swift motion. John was helpless to stop him, finding himself suddenly naked from the waist up.

"Sherlock," John began, breathlessly, when he was pushed back against the wall once more. Sherlock gazed intently into his eyes, passionate grey meeting startled blue. Then, with surprising tenderness, as if anticipating John's hesitation, Sherlock softly stroked the side of John's face with his finger, sending chills down his spine. For a long moment, John couldn't think. He grasped Sherlock by the side of his chiseled face and pulled him into a long, deep kiss that made him weak in the knees. He could hear Sherlock moaning after he ran his tongue along the bottom of his top lip. Sherlock pressed himself against John, clearly indicating his arousal. John leaned forward and ran his hand along the length of Sherlock's torso and up under his button-up shirt, feeling every firm muscle in his stomach. He ached to reach his hand lower, to feel Sherlock's pleasure, but another passionate kiss sent him back against the wall. Struggling to maintain steady breaths, John forced himself to look up at the man towering over him. Sherlock was staring down at him, cheeks flushed pink against his ivory skin, a downright indecent expression on his face. His intentions were clear, and John, still reeling from their last kiss, wasn't sure he wanted to stop him. But suddenly a thought dawned on him- he tasted liquor.

"Sherlock," John said, with more force this time. "How did you catch the bartender?"

"Ugh," Sherlock said derisively, "He was visibly upset, drinking when he should have been working so Lestrade and I pretended to be comforting customers; we had drinks together. God, what a bore." John's eyes widened in realization.

"Sherlock, you're drunk! Dammit Sherlock, of course!" Sherlock answered with a dismissive _tsk_ of his tongue as he leaned down to put his nose barely an inch away from John's, his eyes flashing with desire.

"Believe me, John," Sherlock stated hoarsely, "I have wanted to do this for a long time. This is not the alcohol." He drew John in for another kiss that temporarily made him forget his arguments. Soon, unfortunately, John remembered and shoved Sherlock firmly backwards, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I am not going to do this when you're drunk, Sherlock! God, I could have—we could have—." John couldn't finish. Already, the thoughts of what had almost happened threatened to overwhelm him. _I almost thought he really wanted me. How could I have been so blind?_ One look at Sherlock's tall, slender form standing in the middle of the room reminded him. Sherlock was watching him intently, one hand absently moving through his dark brown curls. "You don't really want this, Sherlock. You're just … not thinking."

"John." Sherlock stated simply. "Even if I am, as you say, affected by the alcohol, I assure you that I am thinking on a higher level than most people on this street." He said it without boasting, just as a fact. John was so used to this, it hardly registered anymore. He was probably right, anyway. Sherlock took this silence as acquiescence and slowly moved forward, his clear eyes never leaving John's.

"Sherlock," John warned unsteadily, taking a step backwards. "I can't—I can't do this now… not like this." Sherlock kept advancing, but stopped just in front of him, silently watching him. "It's not like I've never thought—It's not that I don't want-." His words were tumbling out in a jumble. "If this is going to happen, I-I have to know it's because- because you really want it." He nervously looked up at Sherlock, feeling exposed.

Something in John's earnest tone softened the intensity in Sherlock's face. He took a step forward, and John suddenly felt himself being gathered up in a warm hug, Sherlock's arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. John was shocked. Passionate kisses out of the blue were one thing, but a hug? He had no idea how to handle this sudden change in his friend, but he soon felt his muscles relaxing against Sherlock's slender form. All of the tension slowly slipped out of his body, and he sank against Sherlock, face buried in his shoulder, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. Sherlock kept one strong arm around John, feeling him relax, and gently ran his free hand through John's hair. A long moment went by, when John finally stepped back and looked up at Sherlock, who returned his soft gaze.

"I meant what I said, John." Sherlock said softly. "I have thought about this before. Many times." After this quiet proclamation, he moved backwards, pulling John with him, bewildered, onto the bed. Sherlock leaned back, stretching his long legs out and resting his upper back on the pillows. He beckoned John to join next to him. John stared at the beautiful man in wonder for a moment, trying to find a reason why this shouldn't happen. He couldn't think of one. John carefully climbed onto the bed and started to lay next to Sherlock, already feeling the warmth from Sherlock's body. Sherlock felt John's unease and grasped his arm, pulling John down on his chest, bringing them face-to-face. Sherlock smirked gently as John's eyes widened in surprise. Then, just as suddenly as it had happened and before John could protest, Sherlock closed his eyes and shifted his body, pulling John into his arms and up against his chest. John felt Sherlock's muscles relax and even felt him nuzzle into the top of his sandy hair. John smiled despite himself, allowing himself to be pleased by Sherlock's satisfaction. As he leaned in, he pulled his own arms around Sherlock's slender torso, and closed his eyes. Neither of them stirred until morning.


End file.
